Trees

 

 

The buzz of saws and grind of wood chippers has haunted my neighborhood daily this week. Massive old trees with healthy trunks were being downed in a large private yard in the next street. A dent in the canopy of this old neighborhood which was once a commercial pear orchard.

 

I have written about the walnut tree which sits in my back-door neighbors' yard. The walnut is an adolescent by comparison to the its deceased neighbors. Now, in winter, it's gray limbs stretch elegantly up against steel-gray December skies. I had thought to have its branches trimmed away from over the end of my driveway. The massacre of trees nearby has given me reason to pause and think about this some more.

 

We live at a time when the atmosphere is choked with hydrocarbons. My urban neighborhood borders a major interstate which belches exhaust from eight frequently clogged lanes of traffic. Alongside the interstate, a major train corridor conveys diesel locomotives. Down the street, a shopping center boasts acres of asphalt parking lot.

 

Can we really do without our trees? Should we? Trees raise the issue of stewardship. As a humanist, I see part of my practice as maintaining this exceptional planet. So many human beings mindlessly degrade the planet for short-term gain. It comes easily in a culture based on petro-chemically powered devices, food and pharmaceuticals.

 

Looking at the many annual rings on the cut trunks of the felled trees humbled and saddened me. Those trees lived in quiet balance with the environment. They returned oxygen to the atmosphere in return for breathing its carbon dioxide. They donated their shed leaves to feed the soil from which they sprouted. They drank excess water after heavy rains. They shaded the ground from harsh summer sun. They housed and fed birds, insects and small mammals.

 

The harsh pragmatism of urban human life is inconsistent with the grace of ancient trees. Developers resent surrendering square footage to old trees. A tree has no chance in competition with an addition or new driveway. Homeowners grumble about raking up Autumn leaves.

 

So what does it mean to be an urban steward of the planet? I don't think it requires all that much effort. Participating in municipal recycling is easy enough. A simple broom costs little. Sweeping leaves from tress onto a patch of malnourished ground for composting is not a Herculean task. Gleaning litter from around my own property takes seconds. Keeping the soil healthy around my property requires minimal attention. When I lived in an apartment block, I found plenty of opportunities to tend the plants and soil in my immediate environment. Weighing decisions about removing trees is a greater challenge, but simple research and consultation with municipal arborists can yield a satisfactory and responsible solution.

 

Being a humanist is seldom, if ever, convenient. It requires reflection before action. It requires skepticism about conformity. It requires taking responsibility to dispel personal ignorance with self-education. Perhaps being a tree is easier. In any case, urban trees are helping me determine what it means for me to be a practical humanist.